It's Finaly Raining Sleeping Bags
by JayBee-Bug
Summary: It wasn't supposed to rain that day, but clouds gathered as Scully stepped outside the building. There was something different in the air today.


**Title:** It's Finaly Raining Sleeping Bags

**Author**: JayBee

**Rating**: PG-13

**Category**: MSR, Humor, Weirdness

**Distribution Statement**: Keep all original headers attached and knock yourself out

**Spoilers**: "DETOUR"

**Summary**: It wasn't supposed to rain that day, but clouds gathered as Scully stepped outside the building. There was something different in the air today.

**A/N**: How does a writer deal with her writer's block? She writes a story about writer's block. I included 'weirdness' in my category because, well, this is a weird story. Do your best to make sense of it and have fun. ;o)

**Disclaimer**: I am not making any money off of the borrowed characters of Mulder and Scully. I refer to some of my favorite fics in here to honor them. (and hope to someday become as great a writer as them!) Some references are hard to catch, you gotta look close. They are Blinded By White Light by Dasha K. and Situational Claustrophobia by Leia.

----------------

Joy to the world.

Joy to the boys and girls.

Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea.

Joy to you and me. - "Joy To The World", by Three Dog Night

---------------

_That pivotal moment. So bright, and pure, and clear, that it was blinding, blinding like a white light. That is what she was going after. Perhaps it was a silly dream, a mere fairy tale, not something possible to obtain in the real world. Heck, you were lucky if you got a stable job in the real world, let alone be really happy. And this moment of clarity she thought she might of touched before, this beautiful understanding, it wouldn't take less than a miracle to achieve. What a ridiculous goal in life! Why couldn't she make a more down-to-Earth goal like a responsible, smart person?_

Dana Scully suddenly stopped typing. She brushed her hair back and read what she just wrote. She took off her reading glasses and polished them with the corner of her shirt, carefully, and then placed them back resting on the bridge of her nose.

A sudden slam of the door interrupted her train of thought, just as she was about to start typing again. She sighed and shot a look over her shoulder, almost relieved, for some reason, at the new distraction.

"Hey, Scully. It's a three-day weekend. What're you doing down here?"

It was her partner, Mulder, shuffling down the steps into the basement with a pile of papers and odds n' ends. Tons of file-folders, old magazines, newspaper clippings, and other strange things, he let them plop onto his already far-too-crammed desk. Then he gave Scully an odd look.

"You should go ahead, go out, enjoy. I don't need any help here, this is just a little personal project of mine." He told her. Scully raised an eyebrow at his comment, and watched him attempt to sort through the stack. Personal project? Everything on the X Files was his personal project.

"I was just . . . never mind, I'll see you on Monday then, huh?" She muttered, as she saved her file and closed up her laptop.

Mulder waved his free hand, his eyes still glued to the stack he was fishing through.

"Right. See you Monday."

She sighed and left the dusty basement, deep in thought.

Later on at home, she had gotten everything ready for a peaceful afternoon. Comfy chair, bottle of bubble water, a fan, she was ready to write. But all she did was stare at her lap top screen for twenty minutes.

"Arrgh!" She complained out loud, gulping her bubble water. She was doing so well for a while and really enjoying it, and now she was stuck for no apparent reason. Suddenly the term came to her.

Writer's block.

Great. Her whole life had been one big writer's block and when she finally gave it another go, it comes back.

All I need is a break, relax my mind a bit, she thought. Go take a walk, get inspired again.

So she went out for a short walk. Scully let her mind wander lazily about topic after topic as she stared off to wherever. She was searching for inspiration out there, but she did not find it.

She got back and sat down again at her laptop. She stared at it now like the computer was her enemy, her writer's block.

"Damn you." She muttered to the glowing screen. She went over her words again, attempting to recapture her train of thought. But when the words stopped she just stopped. No after-thoughts or inspirations, just a standstill, like a road with a dead end. It didn't make any sense when just a few hours ago she could see down this road for miles and miles!

She watched her final sentence like it was going to start growing into another paragraph.

_Why couldn't she make a more down-to-Earth goal like a responsible, smart person?_

Maybe this whole idea is silly, Scully wondered. Her entire story. Maybe what she was basing it on was a weak plot, a stupid center, because it really wasn't anything. What _had_ she been rambling about, some pivotal point in life?

Trash.

She shut the story. Shut down her computer. Shut her eyes.

But she couldn't shut it out of her head. She still really wanted to finish.

Scully got up and headed to the kitchen. She would get something to eat and forget about it, she decided.

--------

12:31 AM, read Scully's alarm clock. The only thing lit in her dark room was that clock and her laptop computer.

_Why couldn't she make a more down-to-Earth goal like a responsible, smart person?_

So perfect, so perfect so far, and it stopped there. She wanted to add on but didn't know how, without spoiling the whole thing. The loop was driving, insane. Writers block my ass. More like writer's feedback loop.

God this was stupid. Why did she care so much anyway? Why was it so important? It's not like she had always been a writer. Well, yes, it had been a major passion when she was younger- she had once wanted to be a writer when she grew up. But kids go through those stages. The I-wanna-be-an-astronaut stage, the I-wanna-be-a-fireman-stage, the zoo keeper stage, the doctor stage . . . although Scully _had_ become a doctor . . .

Anyway, the point was it's not like this was some surprise. She hadn't written a fictional story in . . . forever. How could she expect herself _not_ to get stuck?

And why couldn't she let the damn thing go?

Pivotal moment.

Blinding like a white light.

Autumn always has an air of electricity to it.

Ridiculous goal.

Why couldn't she be more like a responsible, smart person?

Maybe it's the smell, maybe it's the golden leaves skipping.

Why couldn't she?

The energy made her feel so _alive_, so fresh and new.

Lucky even if you get a stable job in the real world.

It was inspiring, but she didn't know how to channel it.

Moment of clarity, beautiful understanding, won't take less than a miracle.

_Cordelia._

God damned it! Scully dropped her head to look at the floor. The story buzzed in her head on and on, bits and pieces, and it wouldn't leave her.

She sighed and just sat in that position. Feeling rather defeated.

12:53 and Scully's head was lying on her keyboard, laptop screen still glowing, and she was fast asleep.

--------

Sweet air and twittering birds. It was so nice. So . . . perfect. Almost perfect . . .

Scully suddenly came to.

"Oooh." She groaned as she lifted her head, realizing where she had fallen asleep. She rolled her head and stretched. As she yawned she glanced at her computer screen, and stopped.

Scully put on her glasses and stared at her screen. Just below her last sentence was

finaly

xxxxxxcc

rianin

nnnnm

slepbgs

She gaped, eyes transfixed by the letters. No, that is stupid. No, no. No way.

But _look_!

Well, she thought, that definitely is the word 'finally', except for missing the extra 'l'. Pretty odd coincidence that lying on the keyboard typed a word, but not _that_ odd.

And those other . . . can't . . . can't be anything. That's so silly.

So dumb.

She told herself how stupid it was.

For all the word it looked like slepbgs was sleepbags and rianin was close to raining.

Dumb! Idiot!

How dare she even think of such things? For a moment she was so sure that was exactly what it had to be. But that is stupid. They're a random jumble of letters, that's all. Scully punished herself for losing herself temporarily in that silly fantasy, that they were something they're not.

When we want to believe badly enough we only see what we want to.

She had told that once to Mulder. It was her rule to live by and she wasn't going to start loosening the reins just because of some writer's block, or whatever made her think such things.

And _why_ would it matter anyway if it had been that familiar something she once said to Mulder? Why did it charge her like that, make her heart beat faster, make her feel so thrilled?

Shut it out, she told herself. Get up and eat breakfast. It's Saturday, I don't want to waste it pondering crap, I want to relax from a long and stressful week.

Her eyes snuck back to the screen, asking the mysterious letters there if she should believe. If she could, if she would.

Finally.

Raining.

Sleeping bags.

She slammed her laptop shut. There, that solved the problem.

--------

It was Saturday morning around 9 o' clock and Scully decided to take a walk after breakfast. Clear her mind a bit.

The day was a windy one, a crisp autumn sort. Scully was quite fond of those days. She walked at a leisurely pace, trying to forget everything that happened that week. Work, yes, definitely work, and writing, and, well, everything. She wanted the breeze to just lift it all away from her.

Golden and reddish leaves, great big rolled up maple ones, were playing hopscotch on the asphalt as she passed. She sighed deeply. Very lovely morning.

What she wrote about autumn came back to her in a rush.

_Autumn always has an air of electricity to it. Maybe it's the smell, maybe it's the golden leaves skipping. Maybe it was the anticipation of winter's coming. Cordelia didn't know what it was, but the energy made her feel so _alive_, so fresh and new. It was indefinable, charging. It was inspiring, but she didn't know how to channel it._

_And how she did wish to channel it. She felt like a wine bottle corked up, without a corkscrew to remove it._

_She sighed into the wind, longing for understanding. Maybe part of the reason autumn was like that was because of the mystery._

Scully realized how much of herself she had put into what she had been writing.

Why did she like these autumn days?

She walked on, slow movements in the wispy day. Asking, searching, attempting to define.

But there were neither words nor explanations for it. Scully found herself at a familiar place, a familiar bench. She had hardly been paying attention to where she was walking, and somehow she had brought herself here.

She sat down, and sighed. Always drawn back here like a magnet, like it was an inevitable thing, destiny. And although she sat alone there was a warm air of comfort about her. Certainty.

"Is this seat taken?"

She found herself not able to believe for a moment. But she looked up, and sure enough, it was him.

Scully shook her head no. She was tempted to answer with the same words he had a long time ago when she was the one asking if the seat was taken.

He sat down right beside her on the two-person bench. What was wonderful is that neither of them said anything and didn't need to. They understood.

So they just sat and watched the wind toss trees about and send leaves scattering.

_Possibility._

The word came to Scully like a bolt. The word she had been searching for.

_Autumn brings possibility._

And suddenly, she knew how to keep writing. All she needed to do was make use of a handy feature of writers, called the scene cut.

--------

_. . . and it didn't seem to matter. No matter how hard she tried to forget about it, she was always drawn back to the foolish dream. Maybe she was weak. Too weak to face reality. But she could swear that sometimes she felt her dream within reach, brushing past her fingertips. All she had to do was have the courage to grab it. That clear moment of certainty, she _knew _that she had neared it again, goddamn it! Somehow the autumn brought her closer to that. Given her the power of possibility._

Dana Scully was typing away furiously at her keyboard. Her words could hardly keep up with her line of thought. This was the best part of writing, the feverish rush of sudden certainty of what to write, the flow unblocked so there was an overload for a short time. It was thrilling, like she was not creating this work of art but rather harnessing something that didn't belong to her, a higher power, and translating it, expressing it in a way others can read and understand. The thrill! How could she have forgotten what it was like?

_And now she was more determined than ever to get that dream. It was driving. Every part of herself told her not to, and yet every part screamed for her to. She was torn, a burning contradiction that was going to send everything down in flames if she didn't do _something _about it._

_But the question now was what exactly she could do. How could she reach the unreachable? She knew in her heart there was a way. She already knew the answer; she just didn't realize what._

"Right in front of her nose." Scully murmured.

_It was right in front of her nose. She just had to LOOK!_

"LOOK, Cordelia. Look!"

Scully smiled. She had been so passionate before about her writing, back around thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. After that she stopped writing. But she was glad to find out she hadn't lost it, the skill. She had her fire back!

She stopped and gazed at her work. Her line of thought stopped short at her final words again, another break in the flow. The power, it hummed and buzzed at the final sentence like a storm being held back. What was holding it back?

About fifteen minutes later she gave up trying to find out what it was now. Time for a break, she thought.

--------

_It was right in front of her nose. She just had to LOOK!_

Scully kept staring at those words. Right under her nose. Just had to _look_.

But _look_!

Scully gasped out loud in stunning realization. She clicked back up through her pages, and stopped.

Just before her scene cut, the words still rested.

_finaly_

_xxxxxxcc_

_rianin_

_nnnnm_

_slepbgs_

It was odd because she had shut her laptop without saving those changes, and yet here they still were.

That inner-voice cursed her. Stupid, it said. What is wrong with you? Too many weekends without anything better to do, so you go play mind games on yourself?

What has happened to you?

It made her bitter, her personal punishment, but the words still intrigued her so. It was a dangerous loop, a path of destruction.

She decided the best way to stop it was to just drop everything. Drop the whole hey-why-don't-I-give-writing-another-shot idea, everything, and just go out and do something. She would feel better in no time and get back to work as usual . . .

Yeah. Work. It was nice, her work. Yes, stressful at times, definitely, and not what you'd call run-of-the-mill, but it was exciting and challenging and it was her life.

So Dana Scully left her laptop and went out.

--------

Monday morning, and Fox Mulder of the FBI was puzzled. His partner kept staring into space.

Now it's not like that is real unusual, except for Scully, it was. He knew her; she was a very focused person. But today was different; today she seemed a thousand miles away from him and work.

Although it was true she was far from work, she was also far from being away from him. In fact, Scully was a thousand miles _in_ him right now, although she'd never admit to such a thing at the time. Her mind was on work, yes, but only superficially. Playing in the background of her head, constantly, like an annoying song that gets stuck there, were all sorts of things, none of which she would even acknowledge.

"Hey. You ok?" Mulder finally asked her.

Scully sucked in a breath of air like she was broken from a trance.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm fine, Mulder. I . . ." she shook her head and started over.

"Suffering from acute procrastination. Don't worry, I'll live." She said, allowing a slight grin for her comment.

Mulder looked as if he wanted to say more but let it go. He'd let her think in peace.

The quiet behind-her-consciousness thoughts tinted everything for Scully, making the world seem like a sort of music video- sights and sounds and everything all strewn together to make up a masterpiece that sent a message.

A story.

She had tried to escape it, but her pathetic mind wouldn't leave it be! It _still_ was off in la-la land with fantasies and stupid stories 32 year old women attempt to write after decades of doing something else!

_Finaly_.

Go away!

Yesterday flooded her memories. They must have sat for hours in the peaceful silent conversation. It was nice, it was _right._

Is that all? Scully wondered at herself. Is that all you keep complaining about, going after, being drawn to? That's all you want? That's easy! That's easy to do.

But it wasn't all. She wasn't sure what. God damn it! What the hell had gotten into her! This is all because she tried to write, it's the story's fault. Making things that aren't there, it's messing with her head.

_Finaly._

Shut UP! Scully grit her teeth and forced her focus back to her work. So trying to write fiction weirded you out a bit. Big deal, everything is normal now, back to work.

Back to work.

_She just had to LOOK!_

"Scully?"

She shot her head up at her name, Mulder sounding concerned.

Damn it. She must have been obviously upset. Damn it!

This time Mulder approached her and looked at her intently.

"You sure you're ok? I can finish this, you know, if you want to take a break or something-"

Scully shook her head.

"I'm sorry." She muttered, dropping her eyes.

"Don't worry about me. I just have a lot on my mind, I guess." She said, realizing it was a mistake too late. Gave him a chance to ask exactly what it was on her mind.

"Scully." Mulder said, getting her to look up at him.

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. There's nothing wrong with skipping a day. It's a demanding job."

She shook her head again.

"Thanks. I don't need it, though. I'm almost done."

He nodded as if accepting that.

"Ok."

Mulder returned to his work, but kept himself more aware of his partner, busily going through files. Why was he so sensitive? They both usually felt like crap on Monday. Although normally Scully didn't show it as much.

Fox sighed, turning back to the dull background check he was doing, the FBI dumbwork, the stuff they had to do when there wasn't a new X File case. He didn't know what was up, but it probably would pass, like everything else.

--------

It was now Friday- had been about a whole week since Scully gave up on working on her story. She had struggled to focus on other things and finally felt like it was all back to normal again and the story was a forgotten, distant memory. In fact she was feeling pretty good today, better than she had in quite a while. An unusually good mood. Friday, the weekend was nearly upon them, and she could relax and take it easy this time.

Mulder had noticed her good mood and made some comment on it. It had been another paper-pusher day, but for some reason not as dull . . . the two exchanged banter to amuse themselves, that must be why, pretty much most of the day.

To Scully's surprise the clock already read 5:00.

"Hey. Mulder. See you Monday." She said, eager to get home and start her weekend. He spun to face her in his chair, looking confused at first.

"Oh. Is it five-o clock already? You're kidding me."

She shook her head. "Nope. It's five."

"Jeez. Ok, see you later."

On her way out she noted he had added some variety to his vocabulary. It had been 'See you Monday' for the past seven years. Scully smiled. They were quite in a routine, all right.

She stopped and looked up when she stepped out the door. She must have been so busy she didn't even look out the window all day.

The sky was dark and gray clouds were gathering. A crisp wind was creeping through the area. Definitely was gonna rain. It's the kind of rain you can feel beforehand easily, the way the air is so crisp and sharp, the way the quiet but sure wind snuck through as if to warn you. The way the world seems to sit still, except for the breeze. Odd, she thought. There wasn't any rain forecasted for today, just sunny skies and a little wind.

"Hey. Looks like rain."

Scully turned to see Mulder next to her, apparently on his way to his own car. This was weird, he almost always stayed in the office late.

She nodded. "Yep. It's weird. Wasn't supposed to rain today."

They both lingered there for a bit, taking in the quiet scene. Just standing there, and you think it would be awkward, but it was peaceful.

Yeah, that's it, Scully thought, enjoying the wind that picked up a bit and whistled about. Tranquil, peaceful.

Possible.

_Finaly._

Just _look._

Scully was shocked to be ambushed by the words that seemed to come from out of nowhere.

_Autumn brings possibility._

"Sort of nice before the rain, huh?"

She heard his comment but couldn't pay much attention to it.

_Finaly_

No! No! No! She got _rid_ of that! Go away!

_Finaly_, her mind countered.

_Possibility . . ._

No, don't be foolish. Don't get swept away in the dreamworld again.

_It's finally . . ._

No, it's not, go away, shut up. But her head buzzed with excitement, with understanding of the moment coming upon her.

_Finally!_

No! It's all a bunch of . . . can't be . . .

_It's Finally! Raining!_

Blinding like a white light? No. But it felt like it.

_It's Finally! Raining!_

Mulder sighed behind her, with contentment, what? She couldn't hear or see him, or anything, because the prickly, burning energy in her throat she felt faintly on the autumn day, it was here here _here._

_It's Finally!_

_Raining!_

_Sleeping bags!_

A pitter-patter announced the arrival of rain. Dots marked the asphalt, water swept across the parking lot in a light sprinkle.

"Well, what do you know, sooner than I thought it would be."

Scully looked back to him at his comment.

"Yeah." She didn't know how else to respond.

"Well, see you Monday." And he began in the direction of his car.

No! No! No! Wait! She watched his back, leaving.

_Autumn brings possibility, _her head reminded her with urgency.

_Brings you closer, _it murmured.

_All she had to do was have the courage to reach out and grab it._

_Right under your nose! Just LOOK!_

"Hey." Scully said, shocked. Why had she done that? Mulder turned around with question on his face.

She cocked her head as if unable to understand herself.

"You wanna . . . go for a rain walk?"

Mulder seemed confused for a short moment, as if Scully had just lost her mind. But then his features warmed into a smile.

"We don't have any umbrellas." He said.

"I know. It's better that way." She said, not knowing where her words came from or how she, Dana Scully, was saying them, but quite frankly not caring at the moment.

"Sure." He said simply, and she returned the smile. He looked so grateful, like she had just offered him a brand new car, or reason to stop living in guilt, or somewhere better to sleep then on a couch in a tiny apartment . . .

Now were did _that_ metaphor come from?

Scully was sure she had lost her mind, but it didn't matter because her partner was looking at her in a way that just simply warmed up her soul and they were gonna take a walk in the rain.

So they did just that, still to her amazement. Side by side they walked together along the sidewalk, as the rain came down on them. First it was a light sprinkle that decorated their hair and clothes in small beads of glittering water drops, and then it came down harder and harder till it was a true _rain_, and the best part was that it didn't matter! It didn't matter how hard it was coming down because they were grinning and kicking puddles and it was like the rain was filling up their souls for them.

_Clarity, _Scully thought with such an air of freedom, a sweet feeling of beautiful understanding and meaning in herself.

_This is what it's like._

She realized they had walked to the park, and the familiar bench came into view. They both looked at each other and grinned, and with hands joined, walked over and sat down, rain now pouring over them.

As the rain came down, so did the feeling of tranquillity and peace wash over Scully. So right. This is what she wants, damn it.

A thud behind her caught her attention. She looked back and stared, trying to see what it was. A tangle of blue behind their bench, looked like . . .

Hey now, it looked like cloth.

Mulder looked to see what she was staring at, and they both stared quite blankly.

How in the hell-?

_Thud._

They both looked to see, yes indeed, another red one in front of them, and then to the right another fell, and far off over there, and then a black one in that direction . . .

Scully gaped, no longer feeling the rain pelting down. How the hell-?

_Whap. _All at once a big blue one plopped right into her lap.

She and Mulder just sort of stared at it, and then both looked at each other at the same time, disbelief and shock etched on their faces.

"It's . . . it's . . ." Scully stuttered, and Mulder nodded to agree with her.

"It's . . . it's raining sleeping bags, Mulder."

He nodded again dumbly.

"I think you're right." He stated.

Scully simply could not believe this. Déjà Vu, man, the memories of that day alone in the forest pounced on her.

_I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat is to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with somebody else who was already naked._

It was another silly wisecrack he had made, as he always enjoyed doing, but that time was different. Instead of keeping a straight face and brushing it off, Scully had played his game and retorted.

_Maybe if it rains sleeping bags you'll get lucky._

May-be . . .

Finaly.

It's finally raining sleeping bags.

Oh my God! Mulder must be going nuts. There are a million different jokes he could make right now . . . oh my God.

Scully shook her head, numb almost with shock. Or maybe it was because she was soaked. She looked down at the blue sleeping bag in her lap, hit with overwhelming irony.

"I . . ." she started, but didn't know what to say.

" . . . better keep your promise, huh?" Mulder turned her sentence into his joke, the one she was waiting for.

She laughed anyway. A real, honest laugh. It seemed so ridicules! I mean, everything! What was going on with the world? They were sitting here in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, laughing insanely now at the bizarre twist of fate that came upon their own world, with a sleeping bag on her lap!

"I don't know what to say, Mulder. I really don't."

He was looking at her, and his voice softened to the consistency of velvet.

"Then don't." He said, holding a shushing finger to her lips.

--------

How could this be happening? It was all so perfect and right, she knew it was right, she felt it. As they closed the space between them there were no regrets or worries or fears, just bliss. How did she deserve it to be perfect like this?

She didn't let that wonder destroy things, though. Somehow the intensity did not crack her and she went along with it. Slowly moved in, took him in her mouth, and let the world phase out around them until it was them and only them. She took him in like she took in air to breathe- essential for her soul. He returned her need, just as desperate and equally as hungry. It was like fire, burning insanely bright. She could not see. She could not speak. She could not breathe. She lost herself forever in him. The doors were now open.

And they were free.

_Finaly._

_It's finaly raining sleeping bags._

--------

Epilogue

_Maybe it really was all in her head after all. Maybe there is no such thing as total clarity in life. Maybe it's only place is in silly fantasies and fic written by people who are all just a bunch of insane dreamers._

_But it felt right now. It felt like things were finally all in place. And that things were gonna change, and for the better._

Dana Scully cracked her sore knuckles. She was almost done with her story, just had to tie things up now. How to tie them up? She forgot how she used to do that . . . oh, wait, she remembered now. That was one of the most easiest and fun parts, starting and completing a story. You finish where you started, of course.

_So however it happened, Cordelia had found the courage to change things in her life, and she was determined to make them work. Looking back on it she is certain it had to of been dramatized by her overactive imagination- how could _any_thing be that perfect? But somewhere in the back of her mind, she still lived her little dream. That she had indeed achieved that pivotal moment, and that goddamn it, it really did FINALLY RAIN SLEEPING BAGS!_

The End.

--------


End file.
